The Works of Mr. A. Cowley: In Prose and Verse, Tom 2

HOPE" whose weak being ruin’d is, Alike, if it succeed, and if it miss; Whom good or ill does equally confound, And both the horns of Fate's dilemma wound: Vain shadow !-which dost vanish quite, Both at full noon and perfect night! The stars have not a possibility Of blessing thee; If things then from their end we happy call, 'T is Hope is the most hopeless thing of all.

Hope! thou bold taster of delight, Who, whilst thou shouldst but taste, devour'st it quite! Thou bring'st us an estate, yet leav'st us poor, By clogging it with legacies before The joys which we entire should wed, Come deflower'd virgins to our bed; Good fortunes without gain imported be, Such mighty custom's paid to thee. For joy, like wine, kept close does better taste; If it take air before, its spirits waste.

Hope! Fortune's cheating lottery ! Where for one prize an hundred blanks there be; Fond archer, Hope who tak'st thy aim so far, That still or short or wide thine arrows are

Thin, empty cloud, which th' eye deceives

With shapes that our own fancy gives! A cloud, which gilt and painted now appears,

But must drop presently in tears! When thy false beams o'er Reason's light prevail, By Ignes Fatui for North-stars we sail.

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Brother of Fear, more gayly clad | The merrier fool o' th' two, yet quite as mad: Sire of Repentance! child of fond Desire That blow'st the chemics', and the lovers', fire,

Leading them still insensibly on

By the strange witchcraft of “Anon" By thee the one does changing Nature, through

Her endless labyrinths, pursue; And th' other chases Woman, whilst she goes More ways and turns than hunted Nature knows,

FOR HOPE.

HOPE! of all ills that men endure, The only cheap and universal curel Thou captive's freedom, and thou sick man's health ! Thou loser's victory, and thou beggar's wealth !

Hope! thou first-fruits of happiness! Thou gentle dawning of a bright success! Thou good preparative, without which our joy Does work too strong, and, whilst it cures, destroy! Who out of Fortune's reach dost stand, And art a blessing still in hand Whilst thee, her earnest-money, we retain, We certain are to gain, Whether she her bargain break, or else fulfil; Thou only good, not worse for ending ill !

Brother of Faith ! 'twixt whom and thee The joys of heaven and earth divided be Though Faith be heir, and have the fixt estate, Thy portion yet in moveables is great. Happiness itself's all one In thee, or in possession | Only the future's thine, the present his Thine’s the more hard and noble bliss: Best apprehender of our joys! which hast So long a reach, and yet canst hold so fast!

Hope! thou sad lovers' only friend 1 Thou Way, that mayst dispute it with the End 1 For Love, I fear, 's a fruit that does delight The taste itself less than the smell and sight. Fruition more deceitful is WOL. II. &

Than thou canst be, when thou dost miss; Men leave thee by obtaining, and straight flee

Some other way again to thee; And that's a pleasant country, without doubt, To which all soon return that travel out.

F LOVE'S INGRATITUDE.

I LITTLE thought, thou fond ingrateful sin! When first I let thee in, And gave thee but a part In my unwary heart, That thou wouldst e'er have grown

There was a time when thou wast cold and chill, Nor hadst the power of doing ill; Into my bosom did I take This frozen and benumbed snake, Not fearing from it any harm;

But now it stings that breast which made it warm.

What cursed weed's this Love but one grain sow, And the whole field’t will overgrow; Straight will it choke up and devour Each wholesome herb and beauteous flower Nay, unless something soon I do,

'T will kill, I fear, my very laurel too.

But now all's gone—I now, alas! complain, Declare, protest, and threat, in vain; Since, by my own unforc'd consent, The traitor has my government, And is so settled in the throne,

That 't were rebellion now to claim mine own,

F. THE FRAILTY.

I KNOW’t is sordid and ’t is low (All this as well as you I know) Which I so hotly now pursue (I know all this as well as you); But, whilst this cursed flesh I bear, And all the weakness and the baseness there, Alas! alas! it will be always so.

In vain, exceedingly in vain, I rage sometimes, and bite my chain; Yet to what purpose do I bite - With teeth which ne'er will break it quite